Jane
by ninepen
Summary: Jane and Loki try out a new restaurant. It isn't quite Loki's taste, but as it turns out, his favorite thing is on the menu.
1. Chapter 1

*.*

 **Jane**

 **Chapter One**

"And what can I get for you today, sir?"

There was no avoiding it. Even had he wanted to try, he wouldn't have – couldn't have. The smile spread slowly over his face, changing the usual angular severity, transforming him into something soft and youthful and relaxed enough to melt right off his chair, the smile that Jane said made her fall in love with him all over again every time she saw it. Yet he never did it _for_ her, intentionally. It was a look he couldn't feign easily, or well. It came unbidden, from his heart, through his veins, and spilled out over his face.

"Jane," he answered.

/

* * *

/

Jane had wanted to try the place.

Loki had been less convinced.

But when it came to such things, Loki was usually content to follow Jane's lead. He only grumbled when she dragged him to that vegan place she liked; lately when she insisted on that, he'd taken to threatening to bring a steak with him in foil and ask for an empty plate.

So they went.

It was, as Loki had suspected, too "frilly" for his taste. Literally. Bits of frilly lace adorned the walls, along with artwork meant to capture nineteenth-century England, as Jane had explained. He had no desire to dine amongst lace. Unless Jane was _wearing_ the lace, in the form of one of those "teddies" she had, especially that dark green one, and he was dining on _Jane_. His mouth watered just thinking about it.

Loki, blatantly staring at Jane and merging the real thing with the version that was rather inappropriately dressed for a public outing, was rudely ripped from his fantasy by his eyes suddenly having to refocus on the menu being handed to him, blocking his view. Beneath its clear plastic cover – miniature bits of lace, and words written in loopy curves forming twisting and winding sentences. He followed one such sentence to its end: _"I feel monotony and death to be almost the same thing."_

He looked up at Jane quizzically, but her head was bowed over the menu and she didn't notice. More strings of words were scrawled on the walls; he'd paid them no heed before, but one was just above Jane's head of luxuriously soft brown hair, and he dragged his eyes upward. _"Give him enough rope, and he will hang himself."_

His eyes squinted almost into non-existence, but there was nothing wrong with his vision. "Jane, darling?"

"Hm?" Jane asked, not looking up from the menu.

Jane _loved_ new restaurants. She devoured the menus, complained about her inability to choose, sometimes ordered something extra "to-go" when she found the choice truly impossible. "What is this place?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It's a restaurant," she said with that tone of voice that told him she was looking for the trap in his question. He couldn't blame her; there often was one, albeit for her, a harmless one.

"Yes, my sweet, that much is clear. I'm asking about the things written on the walls, and on the cover of the menu. They don't seem to be quite in line with the…sentiment of the décor. The lace, the frills, the blue tablecloth, the portraits of serious-looking women in large gowns and men in tall hats."

"Periwinkle."

"What?"

"The color of the tablecloth is periwinkle."

Loki considered arguing – she was welcome to call it "periwinkle" if she preferred, but that didn't mean it couldn't also be called simply _blue_ – but decided against it. "Yes, dear," he said with an indulgent smile.

Jane frowned at him then rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what his _"yes, dear,"_ with that particular look and tone, meant. "Loki, I told you about it before dinner, while we were getting ready. Weren't you listening?"

"I _always_ listen to you, my love. However…if you were…shall we say…not entirely clothed at the time…then I _might_ have been a little distracted."

Her eyes bulged as she glanced around to see if anyone had heard. Loki suspected it was at least half for show; he'd uttered more scandalous things that that in semi-public before, mostly because he loved to see her blush, and, though she would never admit it, he also knew that it gave her a secret little thrill. "It's themed around Charlotte Brontë, the writer. From England, in the 1800s. I think maybe these are all quotes from her, I'm not sure. And the décor, it's supposed to have a Victorian feel. That's what that time period is called, the Victorian era."

"Themed around a writer? Of literature, you mean?"

"Yes, of course literature."

"You hate literature."

This time when her eyes bulged, it wasn't for show, and when her eyes darted around, it wasn't with a secret thrill that perhaps someone _had_ heard. "I do not," she hissed as her eyes fell back on him.

"All right. Tell me more about Charlotte Brontë, then."

"What is this, a test?"

"If you like."

"Fine. Charlotte Brontë was a – can you give us another minute please? Sorry," she said to the approaching waiter, who agreeably moved on. "She was an English novelist and poet, the eldest of three sisters who survived into adulthood. Her novels became classics of English literature. Happy?"

Loki regarded her skeptically, then pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing. Then he looked up at Jane and started laughing. He knew when words fell from Jane's lips that were not her own. "You got that from Wikipedia." Jane was giving him a look – and they _both_ knew each other's looks well by now – and Loki dialed down his laughter to a lightly teasing smile. "If I've never mentioned it or otherwise made it clear to you, Jane, I'm already rather impressed with you. You've no need to try to impress me with your literary knowledge. It's not as though I've ever heard of her, either."

"I _have_ heard of her. Everybody's heard of her. Except you, of course. But it's not you, it's…"

"Ah. Didn't you say Hannah recommended this restaurant?"

"Yeah."

Loki read the story on Jane's face and didn't need to ask. Hannah and Ethan were their neighbors and were becoming friends. Hannah and Jane got on well, and Loki found Ethan tolerable. Ever since they'd had dinner at Hannah and Ethan's house, however, Loki had begun to dread hearing Hannah's name.

/

* * *

/

Loki and Jane ate out often. In the first year or so, it had annoyed both of them to no end, though not at each other.

Jane felt guilty because she thought she should be cooking for her husband, and then felt guilty because of _course_ she was a modern woman and not beholden to traditional gender roles in a marriage that were based on the husband working and the wife staying home and taking care of the house, which was not their situation, and then she felt guilty because regardless of what she felt in theory about gender roles in a marriage, she _wanted_ to cook for her husband, at least sometimes. But Jane, in all honesty, much as he loved her, was a terrible cook. Her dishes were too salty, too dry, too bitter, too charred, too something. She had no patience for cooking and ended up missing steps as she rushed, or deliberately skipping them or modifying them in an effort to save time. In the last disaster, which had resulted in a terrible, reeking mess on their stove, instead of laughing it off Jane had sat down and cried. That was when Loki told her she wasn't cooking anymore.

Loki didn't care about any of that. Although on Asgard in many ways gender roles were more strictly defined than here in this particular area of Midgard, he hadn't grown up in a household where his mother was expected to do the cooking; they'd had servants for that.

No, Loki was annoyed because here on Midgard he couldn't provide for his wife the way he would if they were living on Asgard. To be sure, they lived well by local standards, better than most, he knew. Their house was not extravagant, not even by local standards, but in an area where housing costs were high it was quite adequate, and they had a housekeeper who came once a week to do the regular cleaning that neither of them could be bothered to do. (When Patricia realized they were eating out for almost every single meal, she also started cooking something for them while she was there, though by the time they ate it they were heating it up just like leftovers, so it still did not compare to having actual servants.)

And he would have been happy to take on the role himself. Happy, perhaps, was not precisely the right word. For Jane, though, he would have been willing. Willing, that is, had he not sworn off Midgardian kitchen appliances for the rest of his life. Even before they'd married, he'd set fire to her microwave. How was he supposed to know he shouldn't leave the crinkled "tin foil" over the plate he put inside of it? Later, some two months into their marriage, his attempt to make a simple chicken and vegetable soup had _poisoned_ his wife. Salmonella, it was called. He had not touched the oven or stovetop since. Literally.

Ethan had introduced him to the Midgardians' concept of a fire pit – something Loki would have assumed to be illegal here, had he bothered to think about it before – and, for a few weeks at least, Loki felt as though his entire life had been changed. He dedicated every spare moment to gathering the materials and constructing a fire pit of his own, except for time set aside to express his enthusiasm to Jane in the best way he knew how. Jane was excited about the fire pit, too, or at least Loki's enthusiasm about the fire pit. When he'd held the fork to her mouth, watched it open, her lips close over the bite of steak _he_ had cooked for her, her mouth chew, her eyes go wide with delight, her throat swallow, her lips open for more…he'd dropped the fork and brought his lips to hers instead, licking the juice from the corner of her mouth and losing himself in the taste of her and the meat and his pride. The steak was cold by the time they got back to it, but that was easily fixed (by Jane, after a quick search on Google) in the oven.

As much as they'd both loved that evening, they couldn't do that every night. Not the steak part, anyway. Jane preferred not to eat much beef or pork – she had even talked about possibly becoming a vegetarian, to Loki's utter horror – and given the salmonella incident, Loki refused to cook any form of bird even on the firepit. And Loki himself didn't actually want to have steak or roast for _every_ meal.

Over time and with enough mutual reassurance, then, they'd both accepted that most of their meals were going to come from restaurants, and that was fine. They _liked_ restaurants. For Loki it was almost like having servants wherever he went. And Jane was happier going out and trying something new and going for an after-dinner stroll than dealing with the stress of trying to cook and the clean-up that followed.

And then Hannah and Ethan had invited them over for dinner.

And Hannah had cooked.

And Loki had made the mistake of saying it was good.

Twice.

/

* * *

/

It had triggered something in Jane he'd never noticed in her before: insecurity. He apologized to her in every way he knew how, but she assured him he had nothing to apologize for. Hannah _was_ a good cook, and there was nothing wrong with saying so, and Jane knew – so she said – that he hadn't meant it as an insult to Jane, and she did not feel – so she said – insulted. Loki mostly believed her, at least he believed that she didn't blame him.

But he wished she did.

If she blamed him, then he could find a way to make it better.

Instead, Jane seemed to be comparing herself to Hannah, and, inexplicably, finding herself lacking.

Hannah was fine. Thick frizzy brown hair usually held back in a broad cloth headband, green-rimmed glasses, eclectic sense of fashion, and a bubbly, friendly personality. He'd paid closer attention after that night, and had become certain that Hannah wasn't doing or saying anything to bring up those feelings in Jane, certainly not intentionally. It was all coming from Jane herself.

It wasn't a catastrophe; Jane wasn't trudging around miserable, wallowing in a pool of crippling inadequacy. But occasionally, something odd came up that could be traced back, in Loki's mind, to that dinner.

Something like Jane's sudden need to not let anyone in this Charlotte Brontë-themed restaurant think that she didn't know anything about Charlotte Brontë.

/

* * *

/

"Let me guess. Hannah is an expert on Charlotte Brontë? Just another minute please, if you don't mind," Loki said to the approaching servant – _waiter_ , he corrected himself, he couldn't help it, he'd lived much longer as an Asgardian prince than as a Midgardian husband.

"I don't know if she's an _expert_ , but we were talking, and she mentioned this place and how it has this cool funky vibe, and then she was saying how much she loved Charlotte Brontë's works, and I was nodding, and…there wasn't really a convenient place to blurt out… I don't know _why_ I never read anything by her," Jane continued, lowering her voice further. "I think everybody has. In high school, or college. Why haven't I?"

"I don't know. Perhaps because you were too busy working toward a doctorate in astrophysics and formulating theories that would change your entire world's understanding of the nature of the universe?"

"I wasn't doing that in high school," Jane said drily, though Loki was pleased with the little smile she mustered after. "But when did _Hannah_ find time for it? She's got a doctorate, too. And it's in public policy, not English literature. Where does she find the time? Did you know she bakes all her own bread from scratch?"

Right back to that dinner, Loki thought, nodding.

"You do?"

"What?"

"You knew she bakes her own bread?"

"No. Jane, does it really still bother you that much, not cooking?"

"I didn't say it bothers me."

"But obviously it does. I don't believe you're truly bothered about what works of literature you have and haven't read, nor do I believe that the comparison you're drawing between yourself and Hannah is really about that. It's more about freshly-baked bread than about Charlotte Brontë, isn't it?"

Jane gave a frustrated sigh and slouched down in her chair. "I don't know. Probably. I thought I was over it, I really did. But I just…I just wish I could do that for you. For us, but…I know it's stupid but I just…." She took a breath and made a concerted effort to sit up straight again. "I just wish I could do it, that's all."

"If you're feeling it then it's not stupid. Haven't you said something like that to me a few times? But please don't feel that way for my sake. I love going out to eat with you. I'm happy with the way things are and I don't at all wish for it to change. Even if you could suddenly cook meals worthy of a Michelin star." Loki allowed himself a grin over that one; he'd only recently learned that reference. Jane was never as impressed with his cultural savvy as Loki himself was, though, so the moment was fleeting.

"Well, then you married the right girl."

"Without a doubt."

Jane was smiling, but he knew her words and he knew her smiles and he knew she was faking it. She didn't want to let on how much it bothered her. He'd spent _centuries_ not letting on how much things bothered him; he understood. And they were at dinner, in public, it wasn't the time, he understood that, too, but letting something fester inside was toxic. Even something as silly – to him, if not to Jane – as one's cooking skills. Or literary acumen.

Loki looked down at the menu that Jane had gone back to studying. His eye was again drawn to the quotation on it. _"I feel monotony and death to be almost the same thing."_

"What are you getting?"

"I don't know. I'm just now looking at the menu. Is there steak?" he asked.

"There is, actually," Jane said, unfortunately not reacting in the _slightest_ to the lascivious look he was giving her. Steak, for Loki, had taken on a whole new meaning after the night of the fire pit's inauguration. "It's called the 'Mr. Rochester.'"

"That's…an odd name for steak." He scanned the menu until he found it.

"Everything on the menu is named for one of Charlotte Brontë's characters. That's what Hannah said."

Well, if Hannah said it… But that was childish. And unfair to Hannah. His instinct to defend Jane, though, was strong, even if no one was actually attacking her but herself.

He started looking through the menu more seriously. He would pass on the steak, he thought. He could have that any time, cooked over his own fire, just the right amount of seasoning and just the right amount of pink. Monotony and death and so forth. This menu, though, with its strange names and stranger terms in the descriptions, wasn't easy to absorb through his distraction.

Then his eyes lit up at one name he knew well. He looked at the woman who bore it, the woman he loved. "There's a character called Jane?"

"Yeah," Jane answered, looking up and setting her menu down. "Brontë's most famous book is _Jane Eyre_."

"Do you know what you want, or do you need some more time?" the waiter returned asking.

"Are you ready?" Jane asked.

"I'm ready."

"Okay. I'll have the Eliza. What's the vegetable of the day?"

"We have roasted cabbage wedges garnished with carrot and turnip."

"That sounds perfect."

"Anything to drink, ma'am?"

The waiter picked up the drink menu and pointed out a few options to Jane, who tucked her hair behind an ear and listened, while Loki simply watched. In the end she chose a Burgundy.

"Let's get the bottle," Loki said; Jane nodded.

"And what would you like, sir?"

"Jane."

"Great choice," the waiter said at the same time as Jane said, "Hm?" "It comes with freshly baked bread. Would you like to add cheese?"

"No, thank you. Jane is enough for me."

By the time the waiter left with their orders, Jane's head was back up from her menu. She had the softest smile on her face, and Loki thought that an artist really ought to make a proper portrait of it.

/

* * *

Notes

1\. There's no backstory here, beyond what's actually in the story. Imagine whatever you like. (No connection at all to Beneath or any of my other stories beyond general understanding of the characters.)

2\. This started out as my attempt to write unadulterated fluff. Yeah, it got adulterated pretty quick. :-)

3\. Parts of this I wrote tonight, same day as publication. I wouldn't normally do that, but there's currently a "Lokane Week" going on and I've been trying to get this out in time for it. You wouldn't believe the amount of research I had to put into this (might be more apparent in the next chapter), which really put a crimp on the time available for actually writing it! Those of you who know me know I'm not particularly a "shipper," but if the story-idea strikes I'm there. This story idea I owe to "TonaAthena1996" (she can be found on AO3 by that name); doing some writing research herself she happened to come across a restaurant menu on which all the dishes were people's names...and there was a "Jane". This was in a chat with some Loki-Jane supporters, so naturally my first thought (and everyone else's there) was...Loki would go there and say he wants Jane. Next thing you know I'm researching the Victorian era and Charlotte Brontë and all sorts of things.

4\. Should be just one more chapter. (Original anticipated length: maybe 5 paragraphs. Ha.) Hope to be able to finish and post it tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

.-.

 _ **Jane**_

 **Chapter Two**

"Jane" arrived, on a thick wooden tray placed down in front of him. On the tray was a large steaming bowl of some kind of cream-based soup, its contents mostly in yellows along with bits of red and green, a saucer-like plate with a several slices of white bread, and a second saucer-like plate with… _something_ on it, something sort of pale yellowish, with black spots, reminiscent of boiled wontons and yet…not.

"This looks great," Jane was saying.

"Yes, it looks delicious," Loki agreed. Jane was probably actually talking about the food.

Jane picked up her utensils and started eating.

Loki picked up the menu and started reading.

"Jane?"

"Mm-hm?"

"What are cockles and whelks?"

She swallowed. "I don't know. You ordered it, I assumed you knew."

"I didn't so much order it as answer the waiter's question regarding what I wanted."

Jane laughed. "Well, you got cockles and whelks, I guess."

"According to the menu, the soup is cockles and whelks chowder with saffron, shallot, tomato, fennel… And _that_ ," he said, pointing to the small plate, "is a whelk. Two whelks? In butter, garlic, and lemon juice."

"Give it a try."

"Hm. The thing is, dearest, I already know that I love Jane. _Trying_ isn't necessary. But I always want to understand more _about_ Jane."

Jane put a hand over her mouth, because now she was laughing with a mouthful of roast duck. "Go ahead, Google it. It's a freebie."

"Thank you, Love." Loki whipped out his phone and started typing. Normally they had a "no phones during the meal" rule; Jane had seen no problem with taking phone calls in the middle of their meals, which annoyed Loki to no end, and Loki had a tendency to look things up constantly, which annoyed Jane to no end, and the "no phones" rule had resolved the conflict even if the initial adjustment had been difficult.

"Whelk," he began reading from Wikipedia, "is a common name that is applied to various kinds of…of sea snail. Sea snail?" he repeated, looking down at the plate, then dropping his head to an angle to examine the spotted whelk-things more closely. _Sea snail._ Somewhat less enthusiastically now he went back to his phone. "Although a number of whelks are relatively large and are in the family…Buccinidae, the word _whelk_ is also applied to some other marine gastropod mollusk species within several families of sea snails that are not closely related." Gastropod mollusk, Loki repeated to himself.

"What about cockles? I wonder if it's the same as in that nursery rhyme. Silver bells and cockle shells. Mary, Mary, quite contrary."

Silver bells, cockle shells, and contrary Mary he would look up later. "Let's find out," he said with a wan smile. "A cockle," he read, "is an edible, marine…bivalve mollusk. Although many small edible bivalves are loosely called cockles, true cockles are species in the family Cardiidae. True cockles live in sandy sheltered beaches throughout the world."

Sea snails on his plate.

Sea snails the bulk of his soup.

And therein lay a problem. On Asgard, despite Wikipedia's claims, such things were not considered edible. They weren't considered _food_.

But it was Jane after all. He was going to have to make an effort.

He took up his knife and fork, uncertain if he needed a knife to cut this whelk – even the name sounded to him like something that was _obviously_ not meant to be eaten. He glanced up and saw Jane smiling at him.

"It's not going to eat _you_ , you know."

"I wouldn't be so certain. Jane can be aggressive at times," he teased. But he wasn't about to be laughed at, not like this, so he stabbed the edge of the _thing_ with his fork and started sawing away at it. The texture, the sound…Loki thought he might be ill even before attempting to put the thing inside his mouth. Into his mouth it went, though. He sealed his lips around the fork and drew the morsel off the tines, until it was all trapped with nowhere to go but down…not politely, anyway. It was going to require chewing first, though. And _feeling_ the texture, it turned out, made looking at it and cutting through it seem a delightful experience.

When he finally swallowed, it was as though the thing was still alive and didn't want to go down, clinging on desperately to his throat. Loki grabbed for his wine glass, about half full, and downed it, washing the recalcitrant sea snail down with it. Victory.

But not a battle he was eager to fight again.

By comparison with the speckled vaguely tongue-looking things on his plate, the chowder looked delicious. And it _did_ have other ingredients in it besides just the snails. He scooped up a bit of tomato. More palatable, yes, but he couldn't help thinking that the taste of whelk and other sea snails clung to it. He dragged his spoon through the soup. The saffron provided something of a disguise to everything that could take on its color, but lurking in the murky yellow depths lay things that really should have been left in the water or on the beach where they belonged.

He decided he would have to be bolder, and filled his spoon with all sorts of things, including something that looked like it might have started out as a snail before it was sliced up and for some reason put into a soup. _Horrible_. It was horrible. Chewing on either whelk or cockle, even though it wasn't quite as bad as eating the plain one had been, brought back the memory of the plain one. He might have done better had he started in the other order. This time at least, he was able to display better table manners, chewing slowly on a piece of bread – excellent bread – before washing everything down with a perfectly polite swallow of wine from the glass Jane had refilled for him.

Afterward he returned to the bread. He considered dipping it in the soup, but why do that to such good bread?

"Is it that bad?" Jane asked after he'd gone through three slices of bread.

"It is…different."

"Can I try?"

"Of course."

Jane, smart woman that she was, went for the soup first. "Oh my gosh, that's good. Okay, yeah, the texture's a little odd, but it's really good."

Loki looked down at the soup skeptically. Jane didn't seem to be dissembling.

She moved on to the lemon-and-garlic whelk. "This one…yeah…hm…it's good, but it's…the flavor's stronger. And it's a good flavor, but…"

"But."

Jane laughed. "I'm sorry you don't like it. Want some of mine?"

The goose looked mouth-wateringly delicious. Jane got a bite on her fork and held it out to him.

"You ordered Eliza, did you not?"

She nodded.

"I shall never touch Eliza, nor look upon Eliza with longing."

"As sweet as that is, don't starve yourself in your effort to remain faithful, okay? And just to be clear, I _am_ only talking about food."

"Don't worry for my hunger, my darling. What I don't partake of Jane for dinner, I shall devour for dessert, should Jane so desire."

Jane put her fork down and looked away for a moment, and there was that blush Loki loved. "It might depend on how much Eliza _I_ partake of, but I'd say your chances are looking pretty good."

Loki managed a few more bites of the soup, polished off all of the bread and more than his share of the wine, and wished he could cover the whelks with his napkin, but his mother had raised him better than that.

"Was it not to your liking, sir?" the waiter asked.

"Jane is always to my liking."

"Are you sure? Can I get you something else?"

"Jane is all I need, and all I want. I'm afraid the bread was so good I simply got full."

"Would you like to take it home, then?"

Loki smiled, and turned to Jane – Jane the woman – instead of the waiter. "Without question I want to take Jane home with me."

"Um, okay," the waiter said with an awkward laugh. "I'll just get this boxed up for you then."

And thus, on a fine Monday night, Loki returned home with his wife in one hand and sea snails in the other.

/

* * *

/

On Friday night, Hannah ruined Loki's plans.

Jane was usually tired on Friday nights. That meant take-out or delivery, usually eaten in front of the television with a movie or "classic" TV program Jane wanted to share with him. Lately it was _The X-Files._ They ate and watched, then usually wound up snuggled together on the oversized sectional. Sometimes Jane fell asleep like that, and no matter how loudly his bladder or some limb that had been in the same position for too long might call to him, he wouldn't dream of moving and disturbing her. It still amazed him that she had chosen him, that she was his and he hers. He cherished their quiet Friday nights. He cherished their everything.

But tonight, he had other plans. No monotony in this household.

Loki was home first, as usual – unless there was some sort of threat or other crisis, he rarely worked more than six hours a day, and occasionally took Monday off entirely. Early on, his SHIELD "handlers" had been displeased with his somewhat lax attitude toward his "job," until Loki pointed out that they were welcome to replace him with another Asgardian prince who was both a master of magic and born on Jotunheim any time they liked. They had come to an informal agreement after that. Loki would be a little more diligent when he _was_ at work, and they would stop harassing him over missed hours. They also reduced his pay according to those missed hours, but Loki didn't care; he and Jane together made plenty of money to live acceptably well here, and no level of Midgardian salary would equal what he'd had on Asgard.

The firepit was ready to go, torches were lit, pillows were carefully placed in several convenient locations Jane could choose from.

"Hannah texted while I was on my way home," Jane said as she toed off her low-heeled work shoes, after a quick kiss and the usual greetings. "Ethan just got some new anniversary edition of _Top Gun_. Remastered, better sound, I don't know. New special features. We're invited."

"Oh…I thought we might stay in tonight. Just the two of us."

"That's what we always do. It'll be fun to do a movie with them. And you'll like _Top Gun_ , I think. Lots of macho men who are also supposed to use their brains." Jane paused for a second. "Debatable whether they actually do, I guess. Anyway, it's a classic. And I already said yes."

"Ah."

"Hey…I'm sorry," Jane said, abandoning the satchel she'd been rifling through and coming over to take his hand. "I didn't mean to make the decision for you. I mean…I guess I did, but…we usually watch a movie on Fridays anyway. I really didn't think you'd mind. We can back out if you want to. I'll just apologize to Hannah and tell her I should have checked with you first. Which is true."

Loki smiled. That, too, had been a point of conflict earlier in their marriage, once the initial luster of "happily ever after" had worn off and reality – Jane's dental floss getting stuck to his foot and drains clogged with Jane's hair (beautiful on her head, less so in the drain), the clutter Jane left behind wherever she'd been – had set in. Faults, hers and his both, became both more apparent and more problematic. Having chosen, at least for now, to settle on Midgard, Jane was the native and Loki the non-native, and Jane was strong-willed…but so was Loki. When he blew up at her for bringing home "generic" brand mouthwash instead of the one she knew perfectly well he preferred, they'd finally sat down and had a long – and at times deeply unpleasant – talk that had ultimately made their relationship stronger.

"I'll call her," Jane said, fishing out her phone from her purse.

"No, don't. It's fine. Truly. Are we having a four-course meal with the movie?"

"Two. Beer and pizza. Delivery."

/

* * *

/

Loki adjusted his plans.

Jane ruined them, this time.

Ruined, probably, wasn't quite the right word.

"Take me to bed or lose me forever."

Loki looked up from the entryway table where he'd been about to put the keys in the drawer. Jane was standing at the end of the hallway, where it opened up into the living room. She had an intense look on her face, a little more comical than sexy. He recognized the line from the movie, of course. He hesitated, uncertain of her intent.

"I've always wanted to say that," she said, breaking into a giggle.

"You mean you haven't been going around saying it to random men, then?" he asked, voice dropping. Her reaction would clarify her intent.

"Only to you," she answered, undoing the top button of her blouse.

Any thought of Jane looking "comical" evaporated. Loki let the keys fall to the floor and started a slow approach. "Then I won't make you say it again." He stopped right in front of her, not touching. "Unless you want to."

A smile slid over Jane's face. Her _bedroom_ smile. "Take me to bed or lose me forever," she whispered.

He slipped his arms around her, and slid them down, down, down, until he reached the junction of thigh and bottom. He gave her a little squeeze as warning, then scooped her up until her legs wrapped around his waist. "Where's the nearest bed?"

Jane stuck out her thumb and pointed behind her.

Mouthing kisses into her neck, he carried her through the house to their bedroom.

/

* * *

/

"I got you something."

"You did?" Jane murmured, eyes still closed.

"I did."

"What is it?"

"Are you going to go to sleep on me?"

"I think I have a good excuse."

"But I got you something," Loki said, affecting a pouting tone.

Jane opened just one eye at first, then got up and threw on a nightshirt before coming back to bed and settling beside him on her knees. "What did you get me?"

"It's in your bedside drawer." It was _now_. It _had_ been out on the patio under a cushion, before the evening's first change in plans.

He watched Jane's bare thighs as she scooted over; he loved those thighs.

" _Jane Eyre_? You got me a copy of _Jane Eyre_?" she asked, her surprise clear. He'd never bought her a book before.

"Now come look in _my_ bedside drawer."

Jane set down the book and started to get up.

"This way, darling," he said, signaling her toward him.

Jane matched his smirk and crawled over him, straddling his legs. She leaned over to open the drawer. "You got _you_ a copy, too?"

"I thought we could read it together," Loki said, trailing his hands slowly down her thighs. "And then we'll go back to that restaurant and talk about it all throughout dinner."

"We'll pretend like we're literary snobs?"

"The _worst_ literary snobs."

"I like that," Jane said with a grin while Loki's hands started making their way back up. "Wait…is that why you wanted to stay home tonight?"

"I had the books hidden under the cushions on the patio chairs. I was going to grill."

Jane leaned down and gave him a kiss, gentle and sweet, before sitting back up. "I really am sorry about that. I won't do it again."

"All in all," Loki said, hands sliding up Jane's back and pulling her back down to him, "I'm not exactly unhappy with how the evening went."

Jane gave the most delightful little shriek when he twisted and rolled and took her with him so that he was on top. "It's late," she said breathlessly.

Loki gave her earlobe a little nip. "Tomorrow's Saturday. No work," he whispered right into her ear, making her shiver, before going back to his own work, now just below her ear.

"But I still have to" – she paused for a gasp as his hands went to work, too – "to…umm…the car appointment…maintenance…at 9:30."

"Hm." Loki pushed up onto his hands.

"What? Why are you stopping?"

"I must be doing something wrong."

"Huh? Why?"

"Because you keep _talking_."

Jane narrowed her eyes at him, and the next thing he knew she was pinching that sensitive place on the inside of his elbow and giving him a hard shove, and in his moment of surprise she managed to roll them both and wound up on top again.

He grinned up at her, and she dove for his mouth.

/

* * *

/

"Jane, look! Did you catch it?"

"Catch what?" Jane asked, having just settled in on one of the patio chairs, book in one hand, glass of iced tea in the other. She'd changed when she got home from her errands into black shorts and a white camisole top that put the little red mark he'd unintentionally – _mostly_ unintentionally – left on her collarbone last night on prominent display.

"Right here on the first page. Once you get past the introduction, the first page of the actual novel. Eliza. It's Eliza Reed. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah! I see it now. I read right past it. Too busy wondering what a 'caviller' is. But I do remember. Eliza was really good."

"Perhaps. Not nearly as good as Jane, though."

/

* * *

/

Loki stroked a hand over Jane's hair in a slow, steady rhythm. His shirt was damp where her head rested. She sat squeezed in next to him on the recliner, the book clutched in her hand. Life had dealt Jane Eyre some difficult blows. It had his Jane, too.

/

* * *

/

" _Seriously_? How could she fall for him? He's twice her age and he acts like such a condescending jerk. She's intelligent and independent…what does she see in him?"

They'd dragged pillows down to the big padded rug on the living room floor, although Jane was currently using his stomach for a pillow, lying perpendicular to him.

"What?" she asked, head bouncing a little with the quivering of his stomach.

" _Seriously_?" he echoed. "'You are _such_ a condescending jerk,' I'm fairly certain, is an exact quote from you, and you were not speaking to Mr. Rochester at the time. I recall it easily because you said it more than once. _You_ are intelligent and independent, and with access to much more education than Jane Eyre. And I am…let me think…around _thirty-five_ times your age. As for what you see in me, well…I do think many consider me reasonably handsome, unlike poor Mr. Rochester, but beyond that…I confess to being frequently perplexed."

At some point as he spoke, Jane had sat up. "You and I are not Edward Rochester and Jane Eyre."

"Of course not. But I'm making a point. Who can explain attraction? It's physical, yes, but you and I both know it's not just that, don't we? Not if it's going to last. They challenge each other, mentally. She's unlike the other women he's met."

"He's a jerk toward her."

"He teases to get a rise out of her. To see how she responds. Will she fluster? Blush? Tease back? Give a clever retort? Call him on his behavior? If she collapses, he'll lose interest."

"Is that what you did to me? You weren't _that_ kind of a jerk."

"I love to see you flustered. I love to see you blush. I love it when you tease back. I love it when you give a clever retort. I love it when you call me on…well, I don't _always_ love that one. Sometimes. But if you collapsed, my darling Jane Foster, I would be devastated."

Jane's gaze grew distant as she fell into her own thoughts, and before long her head was back on his stomach, the book held up above her head.

His stomach didn't come with much padding, nor did her head, but lying on the floor like this with her was comfortable in a way that, before her, he could not have imagined, he thought as lifted his own copy back up.

/

* * *

 _Notes_

You didn't actually believe me when I said two chapters, did you? It's three now. (Trust me.)

One possible clarification: This is meant to be a more or less canon Jane and Loki. I'm just not bothering to fill in all of the "how did they get from the movies to here" stuff, or even where this begins to diverge from canon (for example, whether _Thor: Ragnarok_ happened and so forth).

And finally, although I haven't had a chance to respond to any reviews yet, I will - please know that I greatly appreciate every one!


	3. Chapter 3

._.

 _ **Jane**_

 **Chapter Three**

"What is a 'gipsy'? I've seen the word in here before, but now as a gipsy has actually shown up, I suppose I should know what it means. Have you gotten there? Near the end of the chapter?"

"Uh-huh," Jane said, taking a moment to lick her fingers free of marshmallow while she balanced the open book in her other hand. "We spell it with a Y. I've never seen it spelled like it is in here."

"It _is_ spelled with a Y."

"No, I mean" – she paused to lick again, and that was getting a little distracting – "two Y's. It's a group of people that live mostly in Eastern Europe, I think. These days you're supposed to call them 'Roma.' The word 'gypsy' has a lot of stereotypical associations. Like that they're all fortune-tellers."

"Roma like Rome?"

"No. Maybe? I guess I don't know."

"I'll make you a bargain. I'll go inside for more marshmallows, if you look it up online. Tell me about it while I'm heating up the marshmallows."

/

* * *

/

Jane laughed out loud.

Loki quickly swallowed a bite of lightly-charred marshmallow – _why_ had no one on any other realm ever come up with this concoction? – to get out, "Line!"

"I'm not silly."

A few seconds later, reaching the gypsy's questioning of Jane Eyre, Loki laughed, too, more because it had made Jane laugh than that he himself thought it so amusing.

" _Why don't you tremble?"_

" _I'm not cold."_

" _Why don't you turn pale?"_

" _I am not sick."_

" _Why don't you consult my art?"_

" _I'm not silly."_

Jane Eyre did not consult fortune-tellers, because she was not silly. His Jane, he knew, would react the same.

As he kept reading, his eyes narrowed. Due to no single word or phrase in particular, he suddenly laughed again.

"Line!"

"No line, dearest. I just like this gypsy."

"I like Jane."

"I _love_ Jane, but I do admire the gypsy. I see something of myself in her."

"Apparently you see something of yourself in everyone. I think that's called narcissism."

"That is not at all the meaning of narcissism. Just keep reading. You'll see what I mean," he said, then blew her a kiss.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled and blew one back, from her chair that was all of about a foot from his.

Loki read quickly, the better to watch for Jane's reaction when what he was certain would be revealed was…and there it was, yes, revealed.

At first she looked confused, then her eyes went wide, just for a second or two, then she dropped her head and turned it his way. "How did you know the gypsy was Mr. Rochester in disguise?"

"The way she bantered with Jane. The same way Mr. Rochester does. That same pushing, challenging, teasing. And then there were all those things covering her face, how she kept herself in darkness and Jane in the light."

"So…did he do all that just to see if he could get Jane to admit she had feelings for him?"

"He asked her about the other guests, then more specifically about the men, and finally about himself, prodding her the whole way."

"It's so manipulative. What if she'd said something really personal? Confessed secret feelings. It's not just manipulative, it's mean."

"The 'gypsy' was a stranger, and Rochester knows Jane is a practical young woman, not given to gossip or confessing truly secret feelings to strangers. The story is from Jane's perspective. We don't know what he's really thinking or feeling. Jane is very proper in her words and behavior. She's given him no sign of what she feels. Look at this line," he said, finding the place, putting his finger there, and leaning over to show Jane. " _I can scarcely see what Mr. Rochester has to do with the theme you had introduced._ The theme he introduced was love, and here…it's as though she's saying 'Mr. Rochester' and 'love' don't even belong in the same sentence. It's actually rather mean of _her_."

"Except she doesn't know she's saying it to him. If all he really wants is to know what she feels for him, he could just ask."

"Where's the fun in just asking? This is more engaging, isn't it? A little game, a little teasing? Besides…what if she wasn't interested? This way, if she gave such indications, he could just slink off in his disguise, and save himself from further heartache."

"Okay. I see what you're saying. But Jane's heart isn't a game. He shouldn't toy with it like that."

"But she handles it so well. She's quite admirable."

Jane gave him a look.

"But you're right, of course." He followed that up with a grin.

"For future reference, if you need to ask me something, just ask me, okay? No pretending to be a gypsy fortune-teller."

"A _Roma_ fortune-teller. This is the twenty-first century, Jane."

"Uh-huh. I'm just telling you, Jane _Eyre_ seemed totally cool with Mr. Rochester's little game. Jane _Foster_ would react differently.

"Noted, dearest."

/

* * *

/

Jane screamed when she rounded the corner into the living room. Her body jerked a bit, and fell still, an aborted instinct to run. "That is _not_ funny, Loki."

"Who is this Loki you speak of? Come closer, my eyesight grows feeble," Loki said, his voice pitched a little high and full of gravel. He wore a red cloak, an oversized black hat – he didn't know what a "gypsy hat" was and the internet had not been terribly helpful – tied with a striped scarf under his chin and a white cloth covering his throat and jaws, halfway over his mouth. Just like Mr. Rochester as the gypsy.

With a skeptical look on her face, Jane approached him, sitting sprawled in a baggy black gown in a dining room chair in the corner of the room.

"Kneel here before me, child."

Jane raised an eyebrow, but got to her knees in front of him.

Loki knew better than to comment further; there were some jokes that would simply never be funny. "Would you like your fortune told?"

"I'm afraid I didn't bring my wallet."

"I'll accept a kiss as payment."

Loki knelt down, and Jane stretched up to plant a perfectly platonic kiss high on his cheek.

"I suppose that will have to suffice, under the circumstances. Now, give me your palm, let me see what I can find there."

Jane laid her hand palm up over his; he traced a finger over its lines with a feather-light touch.

"Hmmm, what do I see?"

"If it's you convincing me that Mr. Rochester tricking Jane wasn't selfish and rude and flat-out mean, then your vision really is going bad."

"Such strange things you say! Your palm is soft and delicate; there's nothing to be found there. Let me search instead your strong forehead," he said, brushing a thumb across it. "Your rosy cheeks. Your impish nose. Your soft lips," he continued, thumb lingering over her bottom lip before dipping underneath her chin and lifting her face higher. "I see it now. A man in your life. He thinks of you often, brings you things nearly every day. When you're near, he's driven to distraction by both your beauty and your intellect."

"Is he also prone to dressing up like old women and trying to scare me to death in my own living room?"

"I don't believe so. He's never made it past your threshold, and likely never will. His name is Gabriel."

"Gabr- The mailman?" Jane asked with a laugh.

"Mmm. But wait, I sense that there's another. He's thinking of you this very moment. You are his world, his entire universe. For him there will never be another. No Eliza, no Georgiana, only Jane. And what, young lady, might your feelings be for one so smitten with you?"

"I don't know. He's nice enough, I guess. Friendly. Dependable. I mean, there _is_ that whole 'neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night' thing. Oh, wait, you weren't talking about Gabriel?"

Loki sighed deeply in mock exasperation, trying to hold back a laugh. "I speak of the one whose name graced your lips when first we met this evening. Witty, insanely handsome, not bad with disguises, and hopelessly in love with you."

"Oh, _him_. Yeah, he's all right. Not like I'm going to go confessing my feelings to a _stranger_ , though."

"I promise not to tell a soul. On my honor as an old woman and fortune-teller," Loki said with a half-hidden smirk.

"Well, in _that_ case…I love him. And I'm _in_ love with him." Jane closed her eyes; Loki drank in her face. "He fills a space inside me that I didn't even know was empty. And if he wants to know more than that…he's going to have ask me himself," she said as she stood. She turned to walk away, then tossed a wink over her shoulder.

Loki sat with Jane's words. Jane filled a space inside him, too, but the difference was, he'd always known that space was empty.

Jane stuck her head back around the corner. "Did you notice the wink? Because I thought that was one of those things they call a signal."

Loki stared, mind half on Jane and half still stuck in his own introspective thoughts.

"A sign? A clue? A _hint_?"

He stood, as Jane pulled him back into the here and now as she so often did when he was set adrift.

"Please change."

In the next blink he was back in his black silk nightclothes, scarf and hat and everything else gone.

"Better," Jane said with an approving nod, then disappeared again.

Loki followed.

/

* * *

/

Loki let the book fall closed on his lap, unwilling to expend the effort to retrieve the bookmark from the end table right next to him and even more unwilling to maim an innocent book just to mark his place – unlike Jane.

"I'm almost done," Jane said as she shifted onto her side on the couch.

"Oh. I'm not at the end of the chapter yet."

"No?" Jane asked, finally looking up at him. "Why'd you stop, then?"

"Did you get to the part about home?"

"Um…yeah, I just did, actually."

"Didn't it strike you?"

Jane looked back at the book she still held open. "It's sweet. She's lost so much of her family, and she missed him."

"It's so much more than that. Listen. _I got over the stile without a word, and meant to leave him calmly. An impulse held me fast – a force turned me round. I said – or something in me said for me, and in spite of me – 'Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home – my only home.'_ She speaks those words, and then she runs away as quickly as she can. She's just said 'I love you.'"

Again she looked back to her copy. "You're right. How do you always see these things?"

"I don't know about 'always.' But this one I see because it's what I feel for you. Wherever you are is my home, Jane. My only home."

A minute later Loki was scooting over to make room for Jane to slip in next to him on the recliner. Their arms wound around each other and they simply sat there. There was a touch of sadness in it, but he had Jane; he would be all right. The rest of the chapter would have to wait until the next night.

/

* * *

/

"He did _not_!" Jane said, practically slamming the book down on the little plastic table beside her.

"What did Mr. Rochester do now?" Loki asked, giving one of the sausages a poke. It was Friday night, and finally he was grilling what he'd intended to cook last Friday.

"Oh, no. I'm not giving it away. Come on over here and read."

"You know he's not really going to kick her out and send her to a new job in Ireland."

"So you got that far, huh? Keep reading."

"But darling, the _meat_."

"You don't actually _have_ to stand there watching it the whole time. It'll be fine on its own for a few minutes."

Loki gave an exaggerated weary sigh and set down his tongs to exchange them for his book.

He read, and found himself in a conundrum.

The scene was quite entertaining. On his own, he would have raised his eyebrows and chuckled. Jane's reaction had been quite different, though. And while he was as free to have his own opinions as Jane was, he had found that in relationships – at least those one wished to last – care was sometimes called for in the manner in which he expressed that opinion. "He proposed," Loki said, as neutrally as he could.

"He proposed. _After_ telling her he was going to marry Miss Ingram in a few weeks, _after_ telling her she was out of a job right then and there. She's sitting there _sobbing_ because she just told him she'll miss him and he says they'll never see each other again. And practically the next second he's telling her he's _not_ marrying Miss Ingram and Jane _can't_ go, and Jane insists she _is_ leaving, and then he just _proposes_? He's toying with her feelings again. How can he be so _cruel_?"

"He goes a bit far," Loki conceded. "Making her cry, and continuing on afterward, that was uncalled for."

Jane nodded. "It's so arrogant and unfair of him. She's completely powerless."

"Now there I must disagree. She has all the power that matters. Look at the two of us. I come from power and wealth and status and strength. And what good would any of that do me, had you chosen to reject me? Money could not have bought your mind, and strength could not have overcome your heart."

"Love makes everyone vulnerable. But I was never dependent on you. He's her boss. She lives in his house. She literally has a roof over her head and a bed to sleep in because of him. Remember, she sent letters to a lot of households looking for work and his is the only one that replied."

"I don't think she considers herself dependent on him. Perhaps finding another job will be difficult, but she's quite ready and willing to begin the search when she believes she can't have what she wants."

"Why do you always take his side?"

Loki laughed. "I believe I was actually taking _her_ side…only in a different way than you do. I think you don't give Jane…that does sound odd…I think you don't give her enough credit. She's doing as she wants, and she wants _him_ , even if he doesn't go about things in quite the usual way. Yes, he goes too far. He's older, but is he necessarily wiser? Perhaps there's something in him that makes it…difficult for him to interact properly with someone as proper as her. Insecurity over his appearance, or his past dalliances, who knows? Perhaps he thought he could fuel her love by making her jealous. But if Jane Eyre doesn't hold his imperfections against him, then why must Jane Foster?"

"I see what you're doing, you know. You aren't him, and we aren't them. If you'd proposed to me like that, I-"

"I would not have dared. I tease and I've tested the limits and I know where they are. I know you. And Mr. Rochester must by now know his Jane. But I _do_ understand him, I think. He likes to say things for the simple pleasure of the provocation. To gauge the other person by how he, or she, responds. I think I see her as older than you do, too."

" _You_ see her as older? I'd think you'd see her as younger."

"When I think about it, it's _still_ strange for me to look at you and grasp that you're only thirty- Excuse me. I mean twenty-nine."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Jane said with a chuckle.

"You _look_ like you should be…at _least_ eight hundred, perhaps as much as fifteen hundred."

"Hey! You're saying I look older than _you_!"

"Just providing the range, darling. I myself could pass for fifteen hundred, even eighteen hundred. And at just eighteen years, on Asgard Jane Eyre wouldn't even have the legal right to go off on her own and seek employment. But comparing my experiences on Asgard and here, it's easy to see how we mature at different rates, depending on our temperaments and circumstances. One need look no further than Thor. He was still acting like a youth less than a decade ago, because no one ever particularly insisted he grow up. Except me," Loki added with an eye roll.

"I doubt shouting 'grow up' at someone has ever worked. It's temperament and circumstance, like you said. And I get what you're saying about Jane Eyre now. Things were different then. Lifespan was shorter, going to college was a lot less common, even finishing high school I guess, and people used to get married as young as fourteen or fifteen. These days that's probably illegal, and if you want to get married before you're twenty you're probably going to have a lot of people advising you to wait."

"Married at _fourteen_?" He tried to picture himself at fourteen. He'd had his first kiss at fourteen…and promptly shoved the poor girl away from him, because he'd been asleep on his back on the grass at the time and she'd scared the daylights out of him waking him up like that. It was unfathomable. Marriage before even seven or eight hundred was uncommon on Asgard.

"Hard to imagine, huh? She was already totally independent at eighteen. When I was eighteen I was still in high school, then starting college, and I had my family. I was pretty sheltered compared to her. I guess if I imagine her to be older… Nope. I'd still tell him where to stuff it if he proposed to me like that."

"Yes," Loki agreed with a laugh. "You would have. Colorfully. Mr. Rochester chose his Jane. And I chose mine. We were _both_ lucky that our Janes were able to see past our many faults and blunders, and chose us as well."

"You're lucky all right." Her face softened. "At least as much as me."

Loki smiled back at her from his chair. For all of his own arrogance, he knew who'd gotten the better end of this particular bargain between them.

"Loki, the sausages!"

His eyes went wide and he dropped the book in his dash back to the firepit.

/

* * *

/

"See how much he cares?" Loki asked after swallowing the last of his second sausage (of the second batch of sausages, since the first had been too burnt). "He came to check on her three times during the night because of the storm." He was catching up, finishing the last little bit of the chapter that Jane had finished while he was cursing over the burnt sausages. They were pacing themselves, never reading past a chapter until the other had also finished it.

"I'm surprised he didn't dress up as a ghost for it," Jane said dryly. "But what about that last sentence? That's not ominous at all, huh?"

" _Before I left my bed in the morning, little Adèle came running in to tell me that the great horse-chestnut at the bottom of the orchard had been struck by lightning in the night, and half of it split away,_ " Loki read aloud. "No, not ominous at all. "It's a romance novel, and the happy couple have become engaged and over a third of the pages remain. Problems are clearly on the horizon."

"Problems don't end with getting engaged. Or with getting married. Um…speaking of problems…"

"Yes?" Loki prompted with a bit of a grimace. He hadn't particularly thought they'd had any lately, but Jane, perhaps, was about to disabuse him of that belief.

"Hannah texted while you were in the kitchen."

"Another movie?"

"No. Ethan got her a pressure cooker for her birthday and she wants to try it out this weekend. We're invited to dinner tomorrow night. I told her I'd check with you and let her know."

"It's fine with me. But only if you don't come home afterward wishing you could cook something in a pressure cooker."

"Can you imagine what I'd do with a pressure cooker?"

"I don't even know what a pressure cooker is, but I suspect you might blow up our house. Not a criticism, dearest, if I were to touch it I'm sure I would do the same."

"You wouldn't, not if someone explained how it worked. You take instruction well. Think about it, now that you _know_ what happens when you put crinkled-up tin foil in the microwave, you wouldn't do it again, right?"

"No, but I don't know what _else_ I can and can't put in there, not that it matters since I'm never touching that horrid device again."

"When you first said that I thought you were joking."

"I nearly burned down your home."

"It wasn't _that_ bad. But okay, let's not start that again," Jane said over Loki's protests. "Look, the thing is, this'll be the second time they've had us over for a sit-down dinner. They'll expect us to reciprocate."

That came as a surprise to Loki, as mortal customs – or perhaps in this case more accurately non-royal customs? – sometimes did. If someone on Asgard had invited him over for a personally-prepared meal, Loki didn't particularly feel the need to "reciprocate." If he had, though, palace cooks still would have prepared the meal. The idea of him preparing it himself would never even have occurred to him. He still didn't feel particularly beholden to such customs, but he understood why Jane did, and why it concerned her given this insecurity of hers. "We'll have them over for Chinese take-out and a movie. Or invite them out to dinner with us. We'll think of something."

Jane nodded, but her face was marred by worry lines as she texted Hannah back.

/

* * *

 _Notes_

So...maybe _Ragnarok_ did happen? You can decide. :-) (But I'll tell you what's in my head at this point for this story: it happened. It won't be directly referenced, though, so it's still up to you.)

(1) On the term "gypsy": These days many consider it offensive, and indeed the official name for the people historically called that is now "Roma" or "Romany," which according to Wikipedia is based on the Romany word for "man" (not Rome). The word "gypsy" comes from the fact that it was once believed, at least by non-Roma, that this people group originated in Egypt. I'm actually a bit skeptical that Jane would know any of this - many (most?) have never heard the term "Roma" and only know the term "gypsy" and probably don't know quite what the word means. So in this case this is me stepping in a bit as the author to try to avoid using a term that many consider offensive, without any explanation. No offense whatsoever is meant by either Loki or Jane, or of course by me. It's the word that's used in _Jane Eyre_. And in general, fictional characters aren't meant to be walking Wikipedias who know all things about all things, so, for example, Jane's comments on Victorian Era life and modern marriage age laws are based on what I think realistically she would probably think...and not necessarily on fact.

(2) On Loki's first kiss (sort of): Yeah, I lifted that from _Magic & Mead_. That doesn't mean these are meant to be in the same continuity. It just means I already created backstories for these guys so why should I invent new ones? (AKA, yeah, I'm lazy. But those of you who've read _Magic & Mead_, I hope you got a grin and remembered Ranka.)

(3) On _Jane Eyre_ : Um, yeah, fair warning, slightly late, I'll be "spoiling" the twists in the book. (It's not exactly a new release.) If that's a concern, read it before continuing to the next chapter, or maybe watch a movie based on it. You can actually find the full text online.

(4) On Chapter Four...yeah, did you catch that "next chapter" reference? It's like I said: this story will have four chapters. Definitely. 100%. I mean it.


	4. Chapter 4

._.

 _ **Jane**_

 **Chapter Four**

Saturday was a long bicycle ride to a park, a picnic basket full of food picked up at the grocery store, a blanket spread out on the grass under a huge oak tree to shield them from the summer sun, a bottle of white wine that Loki chilled for them when no one but Jane was looking, and a couple of matching books. It was hard to get much reading done during the week (amazing how much of a difference it made having servants, or rather _not_ having them), so now that it was Saturday again, they planned to set aside the rest of the day, until dinner with the neighbors, for reading.

Birds were chirping, damselflies were flitting, in the distance children were laughing, and suddenly Jane was swearing like one of the times she forgot to use an oven mitt. He bolted upright in fear for her safety, eyes searching for danger when, for some reason, she was simply lying there, reading.

"What?" he asked, heart still racing.

"Keep reading. Oh. My. God. Keep reading."

Her eyes never even left the page. Loki's brow went up and he retrieved the book and found his place, and kept reading. Oh. His and Jane's wedding had been small, certainly by the standards of whatever he'd expected on Asgard, and even by most American standards, from what Jane had told him, but not as small as Jane Eyre's. He remembered the meeting to discuss the ceremony, and how nervous he'd been – _humiliatingly_ nervous, so much so that he'd hidden it from Jane – and how his heart had nearly stopped at "If anyone knows why this man and woman should not be married, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." He'd gone pale and silent and he'd felt physically ill. He hadn't realized there was still a test to come, a chance for others to intervene and end his marriage before it began…to list for Jane all the reasons that he was not worthy of her and she was better off with someone else. He'd held that fear and dread inside him for _hours_ until Jane finally pried it out of him; she'd actually laughed until she realized he was serious. And then she'd explained that it was just a traditional part of the ceremony, that they could ask for it to be taken out if he wanted, that no one would ever actually speak up with an objection.

Mr. Rochester must have felt that same fear. And Jane had been wrong. At least in fiction, sometimes people _did_ voice objections. Mr. Rochester, as an unexpected arrival stated at the dreaded invited moment, was already married. Emotions swirled in Loki as almost a physical thing; he understood Rochester's every reaction. He had hoped for Jane Eyre to never know what was in his past and what still existed in his present, to live in ignorant bliss of it, to never be tainted by it. And his universe had just come crashing down around him.

He forgot about the Jane at his side entirely. He couldn't stop reading. Rochester's marriage had been largely arranged, to a woman in whose family madness ran, and his wife now seemed little different from an animal. He apparently had no recourse to legally end the marriage, but no longer considered himself married despite the law. Jane, however, could not see it as he did, and insisted on leaving.

" _Withdraw, then,—I consent; but remember, you leave me here in anguish. Go up to your own room; think over all I have said, and, Jane, cast a glance on my sufferings—think of me."_

 _He turned away; he threw himself on his face on the sofa. "Oh, Jane! my hope—my love—my life!" broke in anguish from his lips. Then came a deep, strong sob._

 _I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back—walked back as determinedly as I had retreated. I knelt down by him; I turned his face from the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; I smoothed his hair with my hand._

" _God bless you, my dear master!" I said. "God keep you from harm and wrong—direct you, solace you—reward you well for your past kindness to me."_

" _Little Jane's love would have been my best reward," he answered; "without it, my heart is broken. But Jane will give me her love: yes—nobly, generously."_

 _Up the blood rushed to his face; forth flashed the fire from his eyes; erect he sprang; he held his arms out; but I evaded the embrace, and at once quitted the room._

" _Farewell!" was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added, "Farewell for ever!"_

The chapter continued, but there was a section break. Loki didn't think he could take any more just yet. He carefully placed the bookmark, then set the book down on the red and white checkered blanket. He swallowed hard. He blinked rapidly and found his eyes were moist.

Motion caught his eye; Jane was putting her book down in her lap. A tear was making a path down her cheek. Jane didn't cry often; _he_ probably cried more than she did. "Did you read to the end?"

She nodded. "You?"

"I couldn't. Stopped at the section break. What happens?"

"Are you sure you want me to tell you?"

Loki nodded. "I don't know if I can go on reading it, not right away anyway."

"She sneaks out in the middle of the night and leaves. She really leaves. Listen to this, it's the last line. _Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agonised as in that hour left my lips; for never may you, like me, dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love._ "

A minute or so passed of those words washing over and through him. "My chest literally hurts. He'll wake up, and she'll be gone."

"She's amazing."

Loki didn't know if she meant Jane Eyre's strength or Charlotte Brontë's writing, nor did he much care at the moment. "Jane," he said, coming swiftly to his knees and taking Jane's hands to tug her up to her knees, too, the book falling from her lap. "Never leave me. Please, never leave me, no matter what happens. You're my everything."

Her lips parted, words started to form, more than once.

"Jane…," he said, her name an anxious plea.

"Loki…I told you, we're not them. It's just a book. I'll never leave you. I couldn't. If problems come up, we'll work them out. Together. Nothing could make me walk away like that. I'm…not always as good at showing it as you are, but I love you just as much as you love me."

Loki nodded, but it wasn't true. It couldn't possibly be true. To have done the things Loki had done, to be the thing Loki was…he was coming to terms with it all, but he'd never be entirely comfortable with it. No matter what good he might do now, he could never undo the damage he'd done to others, the damage done to himself. Those marks were permanent, like Rochester's mad wife scrambling about on all fours. They had talked about all this, of course, before any mention of marriage, but some dark part of him would probably always crawl out from its wretched hiding place on occasion, and whisper that he was not good enough, that he was not worthy, and that Jane would someday realize it.

It wasn't that he thought she loved him less, more that he was certain he loved her more, because he understood what an unearned gift it was that she knew everything there was to know about him, and loved him still. Insecurities, Jane had called them, making him think for the first time about himself and his particular struggles in such terms. Astonishingly large insecurities, considering the size of his ego right alongside them, she'd added once in one of their more light-hearted discussions about it.

"I wish I could convince you."

"You convince me every day, Jane," he said, ignoring the voice that said it was impossible. Insecurities perhaps never entirely went away, but his _were_ better, and Jane, her love and her acceptance, had played a role in that.

"Then I'll keep convincing you every day."

"Every day I wake up beside you…is the best day of my life."

Jane gave a breathy little laugh, not because she'd found humor in his words, he knew, but because the irrepressible intensity in his face and voice had left her flustered. "You really know how to make a girl swoon when you put your mind to it."

Loki just smiled and leaned down, nuzzling a cheek to Jane's for a moment, his lips caressing her with a feathery kiss before straightening again.

She squeezed his hands, still wrapped around hers. "I know we were going to keep reading, but…maybe we should just…hang out? Or we could go. Do something else? Go home?"

"Actually," Loki said, considerably calmer now, "I'd like to keep reading. I'd never thought of reading as a joint activity before…but I enjoy reading with you."

"Same here. Okay. I _do_ want to find out what happens to Jane. I suspect she lands on her feet."

"She's courageous and bright. I suspect the same."

/

* * *

/

"Jane…hurry up, come out!"

The bathroom door burst open and Loki's eyes bulged and his jaw dropped in horror.

Jane burst out laughing. "Why do you think I close the door?"

"I'll…I'll wait," he stammered.

The door closed.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut to try to get rid of the image. Once or twice a week Jane applied something she called a "mask" to her face, for moisturizing and unclogging pores and other things he'd never much considered in his pre-Jane life. The slimy green substance was smeared all over her face, save her eyes and lips. He was terribly shocked the first time he saw it; he'd feared she had contracted some flesh-mutating illness. It had never ceased to unsettle him, and Jane had finally taken pity on him and added her mask to whatever nighttime routines she engaged in behind the bathroom's closed door before she came to bed.

"What was that all about?" Jane asked some twenty minutes later, climbing into bed, where Loki reclined against the headboard, covers puddled around his waist.

"Look at this. Remember that 'catering' they have for parties at work? It's a restaurant, where they prepare the food but then they keep it warm and they bring it to your office and serve it to everyone at the party."

"Yeah, I know what catering is," Jane said, looking at the phone Loki had handed her, the website of Luigi's Ristorante and Catering on the little screen.

"But did you know they don't just bring the food to your office? They can bring it to your _house_ , too."

"If you're having a party, I guess you…"

Jane looked up at him from the screen; Loki nodded.

"That's not how inviting your neighbors over for dinner works. You don't cater for that. It's for big groups of people. Birthday parties, things like that."

"Is it against the law to do it for four?"

"No, of course not, but-"

"Then why not?"

"I'm sure they have minimums. They aren't going to cater for just four people."

"We can ask. And if they won't do it for four, we order for whatever the minimum is, and we have fine Italian leftovers later."

"That would be so expensive. Catering isn't cheap."

"I'll show up at work for a few extra Mondays."

"Well, since you're willing to _sacrifice_ for it," she said with teasing grin. "But seriously, nobody caters for having their neighbors over for dinner. You're supposed to actually cook. Unless…are you suggesting we try to pretend like we made it ourselves?"

"Certainly not, darling, you're not nearly a good enough liar to pull that off."

Jane handed the phone back to Loki with a laugh. "I love that your reason for not trying to trick our neighbors into thinking we cooked a fancy Italian meal ourselves is that I couldn't pull off the lie well enough. Not at all that it's _wrong_ to lie to them."

Loki shrugged. "I don't see any harm in it. Not until Hannah asked you for your recipe for the sauce, that is. But Jane, really, I don't see the harm in the catering at all. Why not just tell them the truth? That neither of us has much skill in a kitchen, we enjoy dining in restaurants, and we wanted to share a dinner from Luigi's Ristorante and Catering with them. While relaxing in our own home." He held out the phone again.

Jane sighed and took it back, thumbing her way down the screen, but Loki could tell her heart wasn't in it. Though he made the effort not to show it, he was disappointed. He'd hoped Jane would be pleased with this idea.

"Okay. Maybe. Let me think about it." She looked up from the phone again, then smiled and leaned over to give him a kiss, parting her lips just a little at the end, but pulling away before the kiss could deepen. "Thanks for this. I really love you, you know?"

Loki felt heartened; perhaps with a little more thought she would indeed find catering an acceptable alternative for satisfying her perceived social obligations. He reached around her back to cup a hand around her shoulder, then drew her toward him, lightly rubbing her arm while tipping his head down lazily to hers, cupping his other hand around the side of her face, brushing his lips across her forehead and her cheek until he reached her lips again.

"You want to?" Jane asked, pulling away a bit to crane her head upward toward him.

"Cater?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of sex."

Loki turned his face away, pushed his lips out, stifled a laugh. _Such_ a romantic his Jane was. Reactions thoroughly under control, he turned back to her. "I don't know. I'm finding it difficult to rid my mind of that image of you with your face all covered in green slime."

Without a second's hesitation Jane grabbed the pillow next to her and swung it at him.

/

* * *

/

"You really think they'd be okay with it? Catering. They won't be critical?"

Loki looked up from the shirt he was hanging. Jane had paused in the middle of folding one of her T-shirts. It was late Sunday afternoon. He wondered if Jane had been mulling it over ever since last night.

"Why do you care so much what they think?"

"Would _you_ please not be critical?"

"I'm sorry. That's not my intent. I just don't like to see you worry unnecessarily. We'd be treating them to a good meal. Why would they not be okay with it? They seem like nice people, Jane. If they feel the need to criticize any little thing that doesn't live up to some notion of an ideal home, that's their problem, not ours."

Jane looked unconvinced.

"Also, if they criticize, I'll burn their house down."

Her mouth fell open.

"I'll destroy their firepit?"

She rolled her eyes.

He locked his eyes on Jane's and put on his best expression of madly gleeful scheming. "Steal. Their. Pressure cooker."

"We'll invite them over and cater it. And they'll love it."

"Or else," Loki said with a smirk.

Jane laughed.

/

* * *

/

"How are you doing this evening?"

"Good thanks, and you?"

"Fine, thanks for asking. What can I get for you this evening?"

Loki only half-listened to the meaningless chatter while perusing the menu, letting Jane handle it as he nearly always did. Idle chatter with waiters – or a waitress, this time – was to him quite odd. When servants brought you your dishes they didn't stop to ask how you were feeling, and you certainly didn't ask how _they_ were feeling.

"I'm going to try the Bessie."

"Good choice, I think you'll like it. How about you?"

Loki narrowed his eyes at Jane. Bessie was an odd choice. But the waitress was waiting for _his_ choice. The descriptions of a number of the dishes sounded enticing. Still, Loki could not get past the names. What did he want? There would only ever be one choice. He set down the menu and looked at Jane. "There is only one choice for me," he said.

The waitress gave a friendly laugh. "And what's that?"

The muscles of his face pulled inexorably into a smile. "Jane, of course."

When the waitress asked about a cheese plate with his bread, this time he said yes.

"Rabbit stew?" Loki asked when the waitress left.

"I figured if you could try something different, so could I."

"But rabbits are cute and furry and soft," Loki teased with an entirely innocent face. He'd had rabbit before and found it entirely unobjectionable, but Jane choosing it was unexpected.

"No need to remind me of that when the meal comes. Why are you getting whelk again?"

"I'm not getting whelk. I'm getting Jane."

"Okay, well, Jane happens to come with whelk."

"I will gladly accept whatever Jane comes with. That's the way of marriage, is it not?"

"At least you'll have bread and cheese."

/

* * *

/

"Jane is a _much_ stronger woman that I gave her credit for at first. She's dealt so many bad hands, but she perseveres. And she sticks to her principles when it would be easy to run away to Europe with Mr. Rochester. Nobody there would know the truth."

"Jane would know," Loki said, all his attention on the Jane opposite him, infinitely more pleasant than the Jane on the wooden serving tray, while Jane split her attention between him and Bessie.

"Exactly," Jane said. "Her principles are firm. Mr. Rochester's are…"

"Malleable," Loki filled in.

Jane nodded. "And she knows that. She knew it all along, but when she finds out he was ready to marry her when he was already married, and then just as ready to head off to Europe with her and pretend they're married while she's stuck being basically his mistress…that's totally unacceptable to her, but despite all that she loves him without reservation anyway."

"He's saddled by a misspent past. A wife he never personally chose and whom he believes he was deceived about. Years spent giving himself over to carnal desires and meaningless relationships, never acknowledging the existence of his wife. Jane challenges his mind and wins his heart. He finds love, but it's forbidden to him except through deception."

"I think Jane _likes_ the way he challenges _her_ mind. I didn't recognize that at first."

"No," Loki agreed with a smirk, "you didn't."

Jane narrowed her eyes for a moment, then smiled at him and went back to her stew.

"Thankfully for Mr. Rochester, Jane accepts their differences. His weaknesses and failings. But she cannot marry an already-married man, nor can she dishonor his mad wife and herself by staying with him as though they're married when they aren't."

"I can't believe she almost married St. John."

"He was a safe choice."

"But it wasn't love. It wasn't _passion_." Jane gave an awkward little laugh then, and occupied herself with scraping up the last bits from the bottom of her bowl.

Loki smiled, and said nothing. Jane had also had a safe choice, albeit a too-often absent one, but had broken it off with him, and, ultimately, chosen Loki, who was very much not a "safe" choice. They didn't talk about it much, that particular earlier period of Jane's life.

"They faced a lot of adversity, but at least it all worked out for them in the end."

"As any good romance should."

"Real life doesn't usually work like romance novels."

Loki shrugged. "And sometimes it does."

/

* * *

/

"Would you like me to box that up?"

"Put Jane in a box? No, never."

"Okay. I'll be right back with the check."

"Excuse me."

Loki looked up again; the waitress had gone but the woman from the table next to theirs now stood in her place. She looked to be Jane's age, perhaps a little younger.

"I'm sorry to disturb you. I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation, and I just wanted to tell you, I haven't read _Jane Eyre_ since college, but coming to this place, and then hearing your analysis of it, you really made me want to read it again."

"That's great. I think _I_ might wind up reading it again, too. If my heart can take it," Jane added with a laugh.

"I know what you mean! Well, thanks for the inspiration."

Loki's eyes met Jane's. "We inspired her, my darling. We spoke of literature and _inspired_ her."

Jane laughed, eyebrows raised, eyes bright, incredulous look on her face.

The check came; Loki handed over the credit card and excused himself to the men's room. The coffee he'd been drinking throughout dinner – to better mask and wash away what little he managed to eat of his meal – was announcing itself.

On the way back to the table, now less single-minded, his gaze swept over a framed picture on the wall…and then fixed on it. Another man made his way past, giving him a strange look Loki took little note of.

A minute later, Loki was continuing on his journey, and the framed picture was in his hands.

He reached the table at the same time as the waitress, who was looking back and forth from him to the picture in confusion.

"Did you just-"

"How much?"

"Um…it's…it's not for sale."

Loki smiled his most winning smile, the smile that also said _arguing is useless for I've already won_. "How much?" he repeated.

"I…um…let me go get my manager."

He nodded magnanimously and turned to Jane, still seated at the table.

"Taking the artwork off the walls now?"

"Just the one. I'll show you after I've purchased it."

"Okay," Jane said. Her tone held a certain lilt of whimsy, but not an ounce of skepticism. His beloved knew him as well as he knew her.

Less than five minutes later, they were leaving, after a second charge to the credit card – $100.

"Well?" Jane asked as they were on their way out to the car.

He stopped, and maneuvered the picture around so Jane could see it, under the illumination of a lamppost. The picture was a simple one, a small house in a clearing of a wood on an autumn day, smoke coming from the chimney, bright light gleaming from one of the windows. Across the bottom in neat script was an equally simple phrase.

"Wherever you are is my home," Jane read aloud.

"I had to have it," Loki said.

Jane nodded, slowly, eyes rising to his. "Worth every penny."

/

* * *

 _Notes_

One more chapter. Really. Hope you're still enjoying this little fluff-fest. :-)

If you should happen to be interested in seeing "Jane" - the dish - it is in fact based on an actual recipe I found online. I'll post it to my Twitter, same username. I never even heard of "whelk" before researching for this story. Lots of people love whelk, BTW, no insult to whelk-lovers intended! I've had conch, which is related, and enjoyed it...though I didn't care to think too much about what I was eating it while I was eating it. The idea behind Loki's strong distaste for it is that as a culture, Asgardians simply don't eat things like sea snails, just like across different cultures right here on Earth, we don't always have the same attitudes about what is considered "food" and what is not.


	5. Chapter 5

._.

 _ **Jane**_

 **Chapter Five**

Italian, Jane said, was boring.

Loki disagreed. It was among his favorites of the varied Midgardian cuisines. But while the idea began with him, it was thoroughly Jane's now, and she was commanding it like a new research project and a team of interns.

Of course, for this particular project she had no interns, only a husband who could track down almost any piece of knowledge needed, using his miniature online library.

Tapas, Jane said, was much more interesting.

"No," Loki said, interrupting her; he honestly hadn't been paying attention. He was usually good at listening with one ear and piecing it all together afterward, but he was rather more focused right now, and not on Jane.

"What do you mean 'no'? I bet you've never even heard of tapas."

"You lose. What do I win?" he asked, intentionally leering at Jane's nearly-naked body. He'd followed her into the bedroom when she got home, while she told him about an idea from one of her fellow researchers and changed out of her work clothes. Her work clothes today were no different from her regular clothes, but they'd gotten grimy from the hands-on work she still did with her machines.

She straightened up and saw the phone in his hand. "Will you put that thing down and listen to me?" She attempted to come over to him, hand out to swipe the phone, and instead tripped over the jeans she'd just been starting to pull on.

Loki was up in a flash to steady her. "Serves you right," he said with a laugh.

Jane swung her hips _just so_ and twisted right out of his grasp. Loki supposed that served _him_ right.

"So what's wrong with tapas?"

"It's nothing but appetizers and snacks. We can't serve them appetizers and snacks, not if your goal is to reciprocate. They served us a multi-course meal. Twice."

"It's not just…well, okay, maybe it is, technically, I don't know. But you serve a _lot_ of them. That way everybody gets to try a lot of things without filling up on any one thing. And if you don't like something, you just move on to the next dish."

"Appetizers and snacks usually don't include meat."

Jane rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "We'll make sure to get ones that have meat, okay, my big manly carnivore?"

Loki made a growling noise in his throat; he heard muffled laughter from behind the T-shirt Jane was pulling over her head.

"It'll be fun," Jane said when her head popped through. "We can both go through the menu and pick things we want to try. Come on, put that phone to use and find us a tapas place that caters."

"Yes, ma'am, Dr. Foster," Loki said, settling back at the foot of the bed cross-legged while Jane disappeared for a minute and returned with her brush. "All right, here's one. Mm-hmmm… What's chorizo?"

"Something you'll like."

Loki opened up a new search. "Pork sausage," he said, eyebrows inching up. "I think you might be right."

"Stop salivating and keep searching."

"Can't help it. I skipped lunch today and I'm hungry."

"Why'd you skip lunch?"

" _Someone_ has to pay for this catering."

"You're going to have to skip a lot of lunches if that's the plan."

"Anything for you, my beloved." He _had_ skipped lunch, but they'd asked him to test out some weapons at work, and he'd simply gotten carried away in the fun of it, _far_ more interesting than the usual things they wanted him to work on. "Actually, though, this isn't expensive at all. The chorizo is only one dollar and ninety-five cents per person. How can that be? Do you have to cook it yourself? Because that would rather defeat the purpose."

"That _is_ a lot less than I figured. But remember it's not a meal-sized portion you're getting for that. Maybe it's just a few small pieces."

"If we ordered four of those, then, it's still less than eight dollars."

"And we don't have to get four. It's meant for sharing. We could probably just get two of whatever we want to order."

"We'll still get four. Then the rest of you can share two and I'll have the other two. Everything on the menu is similarly priced. A little less than two dollars, or a little more. One item is two and a half dollars…mmm. We're getting that, too."

"I knew you would like this. Which one?"

"Banderillas."

"Banderillas," Jane said, correcting his pronunciation to the "y" sound. "Like tortillas. What is it?"

"Chicken and chorizo on a skewer. And why are you correcting me if you don't even know what it is?"

Jane made a sound of frustration, but one Loki knew he need not take seriously. "Sometimes you really drive me crazy."

"Crazy with desire."

"Okay, _I'm_ getting hungry, and before you say it, _no_ , not for you. Will you just keep looking? Does it say if there's a minimum order?"

Loki let out a put-upon sigh. "Ah. Here it-"

"What?"

He blinked and forced his eyes back down to their usual degree of openness. "Allow me to read. _The quoted pricing is based on fifty or more people served buffet style. Menu pricing does not reflect an additional fifteen percent gratuity._ "

He looked up to see Jane's expression matching his earlier one.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

"Maybe find us another one," Jane said with forced brightness.

"Good idea."

And then, for some reason, they were both laughing, and then laughing harder, until they toppled over on the bed together.

"How about this one?" Loki asked a couple of minutes later, Jane curled up against him, her back to his chest, his arms stretched out over and under her so they could both see the screen.

"Yeah, let's look at that one."

/

* * *

/

"Oh, hi, welcome back," the waitress said, kicking off that almost scripted round of pleasantries.

Jane asked for a minute, so Loki perused the menu, too, this time paying more attention to some of the other unfamiliar ingredients. He thought about pulling out his phone, but he'd probably pushed his luck there enough lately. He picked up the drink menu for the first time, thinking he might try something other than coffee or red wine this time, something with a bit more of a bite, but instead of noticing any of the drinks, his eyes wound up tracking another of those twisting quotes that wound its way around the offerings.

"What?"

His eyes slowly refocused on Jane, who was watching him with genuine curiosity. Who knew what idiotic expression he'd let fall over his face. "Another quote. I'd forgotten it. It's from early on; Jane's friend Helen says it. _Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs._ "

Jane nodded. "I remember it. It's a nice quote."

"Hm. And what do you suppose is the point? Here, I mean. That one should nurse a…a gin sling, for example, instead?" he asked, pulling a random offering from the cocktail list.

"Maybe. Or maybe that you can try to work things out over a drink."

"I'm not sure that drink ever helped anyone work things out."

"Maybe you should call him back."

Thor had called last night. And some inconsequential comment had grown into something rather consequential after all. Nothing new really; just the disturbing of one of many old wounds. It happened. Not often these days, but it happened. The conversation ended in mutual insults and Loki destroying the phone. (Their house phone, not his cell phone.) For the most part, Jane steered clear of such incidents. They'd learned early on that her involvement didn't particularly help such matters.

Loki's gaze shifted back to the drink menu. Nursing animosity and registering wrongs. He'd spent a large portion of his life on that already, perhaps even the majority. "He should be the one to call me," he muttered.

"How would you know if he had? We haven't bought a new phone yet. And you won't give him your cell phone number."

"I don't need for anyone to be able to contact me twenty-four hours a day, except you."

Jane arched an eyebrow at him, and Loki could almost swear he was looking into a mirror.

"I'll call him when we get home. On your phone."

"Okay," Jane said with a shrug.

Loki almost said "thank you," but he realized he wouldn't be able to articulate an answer if she asked him why he'd said it. Instead he gave her a smile, then signaled the waitress over. Thor had intruded on their dinner enough already. He ordered a gin sling, echoed by Jane who'd picked up the drink menu, too. "A couple of questions about the menu, if you don't mind."

"Sure, go ahead."

"What is 'black treacle'?"

"It's a dark syrup, kind of like molasses. A little bitter."

"All right. And…'sheep's trotters'?" he asked more hesitantly.

"Um…it's feet. Sheep's feet."

Jane made a rather comical face, there and gone in an instant. Entirely unrelated, Loki burst out laughing.

"Okay, honey," Jane said, and wasn't that sweet, he was embarrassing her!

Loki knew he was about to embarrass her more.

"My apologies for laughing," he said, still laughing, to the waitress standing there with an awkward smile on her face. "It's just that I'd guessed they were testicles!"

"We are never coming here again," Jane whisper-hissed at him after she told the waitress to give them another minute.

"Oh, come on, Love, you have so many euphemisms for such things here, it was a reasonable guess. I've never heard of euphemisms for feet."

"Neither have I. But did you have to be that loud?"

Loki grinned widely. "Yes," he said with raised brow.

Jane just shook her head at him; Loki laughed again.

When the waitress returned – a bit of pink in her cheeks – she took Jane's order, then turned to him. "What can I get for you tonight?"

"Jane, of course. Tonight and every night. Every morning, too."

"You must really love cockles and whelks."

His eyes slid from the waitress over to Jane. "I really love Jane."

Jane gave a breathy laugh through her nose and averted her eyes. He was still embarrassing her a little, but this was the kind he knew she didn't actually mind. When he looked at the waitress again, she was eyeing him with curiosity, but then seemed to remember herself and asked if he wanted the cheese plate with his bread. She noted his assent in her little notebook and headed off with the menus.

/

* * *

/

"Nervous about tomorrow night?" Loki asked midway through the meal. The plain whelks sat untouched, while he'd managed four or five spoonfuls of the soup, seeking out the vegetables and avoiding the sea snails.

"Yeah. But how bad can we screw it up?"

"Let's not tempt fate, darling."

They'd found a tapas restaurant that was highly rated, and would cater for a minimum of eight orders per item, with pricing that was at least competitive. La Casita would deliver the food and set up half of it for them…while he and Jane moved the other half to the refrigerator. Ethan and Hannah had seemed genuinely excited about the idea – and Loki was fairly good at spotting falsehood.

"How is everything?" asked the waitress.

"Delicious," Jane answered.

"Very good," Loki said.

"Are you sure? If it's not cooked the way you like it or something, I could get you something else."

"No, thank you. I don't want anything but Jane."

"Okay, I have to ask. Is your name Jane?"

Jane laughed over a bite of the cod she'd ordered, and covered her mouth.

"It is," he answered for her.

"That explains a lot. You don't _actually_ like cockles and whelks, do you?"

Loki smiled serenely. "I like Jane."

"That's really sweet."

"Merely the truth."

/

* * *

/

"Well?"

Jane turned around, peered out the peep hole, then turned back, huge grin on her face, apparently satisfied their neighbors were truly gone.

The next think Loki knew she was rushing at him with a squeal of excitement, throwing herself into the arms he barely managed to open in time for her.

"It was _perfect_. It was so perfect. And how did I not know what an amazing host you are?"

Loki laughed. "I was raised a prince, you know. One learns a few things about hosting. Besides, we've grilled for them a few times, and for a few of your friends from-"

"I know, but this was different. You were so good. You were perfect. The whole thing was perfect," Jane said, following it up with a kiss full of so much more enthusiasm than technique that it more than anything made Loki want to laugh. Seeing Jane so radiantly happy filled him with joy.

"I'm glad you're pleased," he said, hands slipping to her waist.

"And when Hannah and I went into the kitchen, we talked about cooking and she was so nice about it. She said she gets stressed out at work and chopping things into little pieces relaxes her."

"Clever woman, that. I've always found wielding a sharp knife to be relaxing."

"I guess I walked right into that one," Jane said over a laugh.

"Through a door blown right off its hinges."

Jane hugged and squeezed him; he let her rock him side to side.

"You already cleaned up, right?"

"Mm-hm. Hannah helped."

"Then come to bed."

"Noooo, I'm too full," she said, pressing the top of her head to his chest.

He'd known it was unlikely. But maybe in a couple of hours. "I have just the thing. How about we stretch out on the couch and watch this?"

One hand came off her hip, and presented an item to Jane when she pulled back from him.

"A movie?" she said, taking the plastic DVD case from him. " _Jane Eyre_? When did you get this?"

"Today, when I got the new phone. It's the most recent version, and received a number of awards."

Jane grasped his hand, gave it a tug, and together they headed back to the living room.

/

* * *

/

Two weeks later, they were back at the restaurant with the periwinkle tablecloths. They had a plan. They'd reviewed the movie and how it differed from the book on the drive over, and over dinner, they would impress eavesdroppers with their discussion of the comparisons. Merely an innocent game for laughs, but Jane was excited about it. She'd been in a jubilant mood ever since the successful catering dinner with the neighbors, and tonight she'd been full of restless energy.

"I'll be right back," she said as soon as they were shown to a table.

Loki sat; Jane threw a nervous-looking smile over her shoulder and headed off, stopping to say something to one of the staff before continuing on toward the restroom.

Everything Jane said tonight would probably sound rehearsed. She simply lacked any talent for subterfuge. She was certainly adorable when she attempted it, though.

While he waited, Loki occupied himself with idle perusal of the drink menu. He'd forgotten about the quote on it. Nursing animosity and registering wrongs. He'd patched things up with Thor. Again. It wasn't as hard as it used to be. Thor had changed. _He_ had changed. He once would have said that satisfaction wasn't in his nature. Now? He was satisfied. Truly satisfied. It made letting go of animosity and wrongs a little easier. Tonight, he thought instead he might nurse a gin sling, minus the sling.

Jane soon returned, and right after her the waitress, the same one as the last two visits.

"Here are your menus. I know you're regulars, so maybe you already know what you want?" the young woman asked somewhat anxiously. The poor thing. Perhaps he really _had_ embarrassed her when he'd asked about sheep's trotters last time. The thought of it had him holding back more laughter.

"Um, yeah, actually. I'll have the Eliza. That was really good. Oh! And that recommended Burgundy pairing we had before. The bottle."

"Okay. And what would you like this evening, sir?"

The smile came forth, the one that suffused his entire body and spirit. "Jane."

The waitress spoiled the mood with an actual _giggle_. Well, she knew why he kept ordering that dish now, and she'd said it was "sweet."

"Are you sure I can't tempt you with something else?" she asked. "The Helen is one of our most popular dishes. The Blanche?"

"I'm sure they're wonderful. But even if my eye briefly wanders, I'll never stray from Jane."

The way the waitress looked at him now, Loki suspected she might have fallen a little bit in love with him. Right here in front of his wife, as he declared his eternal love for her. He sat back and smiled at Jane. She knew he wasn't flirting; he'd said the same sorts of things to the male waiter, that first night here. And that meant he was perfectly free to derive some pleasure from it, he thought as he continued smiling at Jane.

Jane, apparently, wasn't bothered at all by the hearts thumping in the waitress's eyes; she was smiling in her own mischievous way. Tonight was going to be _such_ fun.

The waitress mumbled something and hurried off.

Loki opened his mouth to call her back, then thought better of it. Why destroy a moment? "She forgot to ask about the cheese," he said.

Jane nodded, lips pursed, smiling.

"And I was going to order a drink."

"She'll be back."

"She's very distracted though."

"I guess so."

"It seems fidelity can be quite a turn-on."

A short laugh burst out. "Well, its opposite certainly wouldn't work out very well for you."

"I'll never find out."

"That _was_ the deal."

"Best deal I ever made."

"Same here," Jane said, expression softening from teasing to one that made Loki's heart speed up.

"Jane…I got you something."

"Yeah?"

Loki glanced around; their waitress was busy at another table, but the other waitress was up at the cash register, and looking their way, though she quickly averted her eyes when Loki's gaze caught hers. He wondered if their waitress had been chatting with the other one.

It simply meant he had to be more careful. He slipped a hand under the table, and, hidden by the periwinkle tablecloth, in it appeared a simple white envelope. His hand reemerged, and without a word he handed the envelope over to Jane.

His heart was still racing, but for a different reason entirely now. He was going to have to tread carefully. He closely watched Jane's expression for indications of her initial reaction.

When it came, it was primarily confusion.

"Cooking lessons?"

He nodded. "Only if you're interested. Only if you want to. Jane, I swear to you, I don't care at all whether or not you cook. I love going to restaurants with you. If we didn't go out to eat so much, we never would have come to this place. We never would have read" – he made a point of glancing around, then leaning in and whispering the next few words – " _that book_ together. If you want to try something new, though, for _you_ , well, this is an option. It's six evenings, and four Saturday mornings."

"I don't know, Loki. If ninth grade home ec didn't do it…"

"This isn't ninth grade home ec," Loki said, though truth be told, for all he knew, it was exactly the same as ninth grade home ec, since he had no idea what home ec was. "This is a company that teaches the scientific principles of cooking. The effect key ingredients have on one another. Principles of heat and moisture, and the different means of heating. Boiling versus broiling. It's meant to be practical. Students learn to prepare delicious yet simple meals effectively and efficiently. If that sounds like it's from the website, it is. I'm telling you all this so you understand what the classes are about, though, not to convince you. I don't want to give you the impression that you're in any way not enough for me, just as you are."

"Jane is enough for you, huh?"

"Always," Loki said with a grin. She was quoting his words to the waiter, the first time they'd come here.

"Okay. Scientific principles of cooking…that's an interesting perspective. If I thought about it that way…maybe it would hold my attention long enough to have at least a slim chance of getting it right. And maybe if I actually _knew_ those principles…maybe I _would_ get it right every now and then. But…wouldn't it be kind of…embarrassing? Boiling versus broiling? I'm a grown woman, I should already know these things. And just for the record, I _do_ know what boiling is."

"You're a grown _career_ woman who has invested her time elsewhere. And they wouldn't offer the class if people didn't need it. The lessons are held in a kitchen where you try out the things you're learning, so they're kept small. Five maximum, two minimum. No need to feel embarrassed."

"So if I worked up the nerve to sign up but nobody else does, it's cancelled?"

"It won't be cancelled."

"You can't know that."

"I know for a fact that if you sign up, at least one other person will, too."

"Who?"

Loki gave her a look. A _come now, my love, you are smarter than that_ look.

" _You_? _You_ would sign up?"

"I would. I've been thinking about it ever since you mentioned taking instruction. You're one of the leading minds on your world in astrophysics. And I'm…well…me."

"Very funny."

"Who's joking? My point is, you were right, but not just about me. We _both_ take instruction well. So I'll learn what items will set the microwave on fire, and how to avoid poisoning you. And you'll-"

"You didn't-"

"I'm making a point now, darling. Please let me. You'll learn why you can't skip steps in the recipes, or perhaps when you _can_ skip steps. And perhaps how to use a nice, loud timer."

Jane shot him a look; he laughed.

"And we'll do it together. It'll be fun."

"You sound like you're trying to convince me."

"All right, perhaps I am. It says it right on the menu, the quote from Charlotte Brontë, _I feel monotony and death to be almost the same thing._ There is no monotony with us, of course. But the spirit of it, I think, is to continually try new things."

"Both of us trying to cook something, together, and not just meat on the firepit…that would definitely be a new thing."

Loki nodded. He'd said all he could on the matter.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. Cooking classes. Let's do it. Why not? If worst comes to worst…it's their kitchen we burn down, not ours."

"That's the spirit, Love," Loki said with a grin.

A couple of minutes later the wine came as they began their agreed-upon comparison of _Jane Eyre_ the book and _Jane Eyre_ the movie, and a few minutes after that the waitress returned, carrying two plates. Plates, Loki noticed, and not the wooden serving board.

He was just thinking perhaps they'd run out of serving boards when his eyes focused on what was on the plate being placed in front of him. Roast beef – tender, moist roast beef that was already breaking apart, just the way he liked it – surrounded by an artistic arrangement of carrots, potatoes, onions, turnips, and parsnips with rosemary and little sprigs of parsley.

It looked delicious.

He stared.

His mouth watered.

He had to send it back.

Avoiding Jane's eyes, he dragged his gaze straight up to the waitress, who was watching him.

"I'm sorry," he began, and oh, how sorry he was! "I asked for Jane, and I'm afraid nothing can sway me from her." Not even if it makes me drool, he silently added.

"Yes, sir. That's Jane."

"No, this is…." He couldn't remember which dish it actually was; he hadn't ever paid much attention to the names of the dishes, other than Jane, and the dishes Jane had ordered. But the waitress was smiling, and not the normal "good evening what can I get for you" smile. He looked over at Jane. Smiling. Not unlike the waitress.

"All right, what-"

"Would you like to review the menu, sir?"

Eyes narrowed, Loki silently took the outheld menu from the waitress. He opened it, found the spot where Jane was located on the sheet of paper behind the plastic. No mention of whelks. No mention of cockles. Instead, roast beef and vegetables.

His eyes found Jane's again. Mischief stared him right in the face and he hadn't recognized it. Her little trip to the bathroom earlier? The words she'd exchanged with one of the other restaurant employees? She hadn't arranged it then, there wouldn't have been time, but she had reminded them of it. She'd arranged it sometime before.

Not twenty minutes earlier, he'd been thinking she had no gift for subterfuge.

"I see you've updated the menus," he said, gaze sliding slowly from Jane to the waitress.

"Mm-hm. Two of them, anyway. We, um, haven't gotten to the rest yet."

"What a shame," Jane said. "You didn't get what you thought you were getting. Do you want to change your order?"

"Certainly not. No matter how Jane appears, no matter how Jane changes, or doesn't change, I want only Jane. Always and forever." He handed the menu back.

When the waitress, who had stuttered over asking them if they wanted anything else to drink, left them, Loki gave Jane – his wife – a long silent look. Without breaking eye contact, he took his fork, pulled off some meat, and closed his lips around the tines.

"That good, huh?" Jane asked, watching his reactions.

He swallowed, licked his lips, at least as much for Jane's benefit as his own. "Jane is _mouth_ watering."

She laughed, with that lovely little twinge of embarrassment in her eyes.

He took another bite.

"I love Jane."

Another bite.

"I _adore_ Jane."

Bite.

"I can't get enough of Jane."

Bite.

"Jane is _full_ of surprises."

Laughter.

Bite.

"Jane never ceases to amaze me."

Bite.

"Don't eat too much."

It took a second. "Hm? What?"

"Don't let yourself get overfull. As soon as we leave here, I'm going to be in _desperate_ need of Jane. _So much_ Jane. For dessert."

"This isn't fair," Jane said, after the usual glances around, to make sure no one heard.

"How so, my love?"

"There's no Loki on the menu."

"I'll make a menu just for you. At home. Only one item on it."

"And you'll ask me what I want."

"And you'll say…?"

"Loki," Jane said. Quiet. Low. Sultry.

"Jane, darling?"

"Hm?"

"Eat quickly."

 _The End_

* * *

Notes

So, this was my imagining of a married Loki and Jane, who've pretty well worked through their sticking points as a couple as well as Loki's serious issues as an individual. This is a Loki who indeed would no longer say "Satisfaction's not in my nature."

Writing-wise, I set a couple of restrictions on myself (I always aim to try out something new and different with each of these stories, though it's probably things that don't particularly stand out to you reading it). In this one it was: Loki POV only, no other characters appearing (except for nameless ones at the restaurant), no italicized thoughts, a kind of timelessness/placelessness. I also used a lot more...I'm not sure how to describe it, but maybe impressionistic "sentences" that aren't at all grammatically complete sentences - like right above ("Sultry.") - though if I were being more serious about that I'd go back and edit this and be a lot more intentional and thoughtful about that. But nah, I'd rather just release this chapter and be done with it. Hope you enjoyed this little bit of slice-of-life fluffiness!


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